Five People Who Weren't Happy to See Edward Nigma
by Pierre Gringoire
Summary: And One Person Who Was.
1. The Boy

One: The Boy

 _A look into the childhood of the boy who would be the Riddler, from the perspective of someone who never wanted to be there in the first place._

Edie Nashton looked up from the dishes when she heard the front door open. She checked the clock. 2:45. Too early to be William, especially on nights when he went to the bar before coming home. The boy then. She began drying the plate with a little more force than necessary.

"Mom, I'm home!" She could hear him shutting the door behind him, then the sound of his feet padding down the hall towards the kitchen. Just once, she thought, couldn't he just go up to his room and stay there and not bother her?

"Mom!" he shouted, rushing in. "Look! I got a perfect score!"

"That's nice," she said, not looking up.

She couldn't see him, but she could just tell the little brat was pouting. "You're not even looking."

It took all of her willpower to not take the dish and chuck it at him. Gritting her teeth, she looked at him. His eyes lit up then, and he held up whatever it was that had gotten a "perfect" score. It was a diorama he'd made out of a shoebox. Inside were some of his old dinosaur figurines that he'd received from his grandparents, when they still cared enough to visit. Edie's eyes strayed to the A+ written in red marker along the side. Her eyes narrowed. If that had gotten an A+, how hideous were the other kids' projects?

The boy had been prattling on about what it was, and what each dinosaur represented as if he was the adult and she was the stupid child. At some point, she tuned him out, as she usually did and went back to the dishes. They had been clean for some time now, but maybe if she looked busy, he'd take the hint and leave her alone.

She wasn't supposed to live like this, Edie thought. She was meant for more than to be a house wife, chained to a drunkard, chained to a child she could barely look at because he reminded her of all she might have been and what she'd lost. She'd been a bright girl in high school, she could have gotten a scholarship anywhere she wanted, until she met William, until one late summer night when they'd made a mistake, until the following April when that mistake was born and made her life the mess it was now.

Edie began to scrub harder. It wasn't her fault. She'd tried to love him, she really had, but he'd always been a demanding child, William had no interest in actually caring for him after he'd been born, her parents were no help, even though they were the ones who told her to keep him or they'd never speak to her again, and she never wanted him, she never wanted to be tied down so young, she was meant for more than this and he just wouldn't shut up and leave her alone-

"...Mom? You're not listening! Mom? Mom!"

Edie whipped around and without a word of warning took the dish in her hands and threw it at the space just above his head. The boy stood still, shock and fear showing on his face.

Edie felt a fresh wave of anger overcome her. How dare he look at her like she was the monster? "Get out!"she hissed.

The boy fled, taking his stupid diorama with him. Edie returned to her dishes grateful for the peace and quiet, until William came home at least.

Later that night, after they'd had another tense family dinner, Edie remembered the diorama.

"Eddie?" she said in a soft voice.

The boy tensed as he looked at her. No doubt remembering her lashing out at him earlier that day. For a moment, Edie reconsidered what she was about to do. Just as soon as the thought came to her though, she pushed it down. The boy had to learn his place sooner or later.

"Why don't you show your father your project?"

The boy's eyes lit up and he ran back up to his room. William had moved to the couch, a bottle of beer in hand, completely unaware of anything around him. That soon changed as the boy dashed up to him, grinning wildly as he held up his prized diorama. He still thought he had a chance to impress his father. He really was a little moron.

William looked at his son with his usual disdain. "What the Hell is that thing?"

The boy continued on, undeterred. "It's my diorama! I got a perfect-" Before he could finish his sentence, William had slapped it out of his hands, crumpling the shoebox and sending little dinosaurs scattering across the floor.

"Pick it up you little shit. I'm trying to watch the game!"

The boy stood still, tears springing to his eyes. "My diorama..."

William backhanded the boy then. With a cry, he fell to the floor. Like always, Edie didn't make a move to help him. "Did you hear me you moron? Pick it up!"

The boy did as he was told, trying desperately not to cry. Edie sat at the table, watching all the while with a blank expression on her face. Maybe next time, she thought, he'd take the hint and leave me alone for once.

"Hey Edie!" William shouted. "Get off your ass and grab me another beer!"

"Get it yourself!" Edie shouted back.

Another violent argument ensued. This was the only way Edie felt anything anymore. Like always, the boy managed to get himself out of the line of fire and made his way to the stairs, the remains of his diorama in his hands. This time however, he didn't immediately run back into his room. While she was trading insults with William, Edie happened to look up at the stairs and made eye contact with the boy. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The boy didn't have his usual expression of fear on his face. He wasn't crying anymore either. Instead, he looked down at her and William with pure hatred. William turned to see what she was looking at, but the boy had quickly finished running up the stairs. All they heard at that point was his door slamming.

Edie packed her bags and left later that night. For a brief moment, she considered taking the boy with her, but she remembered the look in his eyes. She'd never wanted to be a mother less. Besides, she thought as she took the last bus out of Waterbury. If he's as smart as he thinks he is, he can figure his own way out.

The next time she saw the boy was on a television screen, twenty years later. He's not a boy anymore, he's a man. His name is Nigma now, not Nashton. He's not a cowering child, desperate to impress people who couldn't care less about him. He's one of the most notorious criminals not just in Gotham, but in the entire world. And he was right now on the run again, having broken out of Arkham as if he was simply leaving for work.

In contrast, Edie hadn't changed much. In the twenty years she'd spent alone in Keystone, she'd been as stagnant as she was when she was with William and the boy-Edward. She had at long last acknowledged that it wasn't and had never been Edward's fault she'd never made anything of herself. She almost wished she had gone to him when he'd first been arrested, but she remembered the look in his eyes the night she'd left and thought that he'd sooner kill her than speak to her. Besides, she'd never been a mother before. Why start now?

Edie wondered if he even remembered her, as she moved from her chair to bring in her mail. She sorted it on the table as the TV announcer droned on in the background. "He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. If sighted, please alert your local law enforcement.."

There wasn't much of note in the mail today. Just bills, an invitation from apartment management..and a large black envelope, with no return address and a green question mark on the front.

Edie's blood ran cold. With shaking hands, she opened the envelope and pulled out a card. There was a message written inside in green ink. _Happy Mother's Day. I'll see you soon._

The next morning, Edie Nashton was halfway across the country.

 _(Edward later admitted that he'd had no intention of actually seeing his mother, but there was no point letting her know that, was there?)_


	2. The Riddler

Chapter Two: The Riddler

Among the Gotham populace, there was an unspoken, but generally agreed upon ranking of the super criminals that plagued their city. The Joker was universally agreed to be the worst. Scarecrow was up there near the top as well. Two Face and Mr. Freeze were renowned, but most felt pity for them rather than fear. Opinions on Harley Quinn tended to vary, depending on if she was with the Joker or not. People also were conflicted on Poison Ivy. While there was one contingent that insisted she was the Devil Incarnate (mostly men), there was another that remembered her actions during the No Man's Land incident with fondness. Somewhere in the middle of these rogues was the Riddler. Popular consensus about him, (other than him possibly being the most obnoxious man that had ever darkened Gotham's streets), was that he wasn't anything to write home about. The poor man's Joker. What most of Gotham's citizens failed to understand however, was that even if he wasn't as dangerous as the Joker, or Scarecrow, he still wasn't someone who should be taken lightly. Robert Sanchez found this out for himself the hard way.

Robert Sanchez wasn't even supposed to be at the Gotham Metropolitan Art museum that night. He was a night custodian who usually only worked Monday through Thursday, but he'd come in that Saturday night to cover a sick co-worker's shift. The same night the Riddler had decided to rob the museum. So that was how Robert found himself backed against a wall by half a dozen armed thugs, including two women who may or may not be Riddler's girlfriends. Robert wasn't sure he wanted to know. The Riddler himself was studying a painting hung on the other side of the room.

"I never cared much for modern art," he said. "But there's something about this piece that speaks to me. Girls, what do you think?"

The blonde girl, the one who'd had her gun pointed at Robert, turned to look. "I don't think it matches the furniture boss."

"You're probably right. Oh well. I suppose we'll just have to stick with the Baroque."

While they were speaking, the blonde still had her back partially turned. Maybe, Robert thought, if he was quick, he could take her down before anyone had time to react. Before he could even think about taking a step, Riddler's voice cut in, cold and condescending.

"I wouldn't if I were you. You aren't paid enough to be heroic."

The blonde turned around and smacked him in the face with the butt of her gun. Robert went to the ground with a grunt.

"We almost done Eddie?" Robert heard the other girl ask.

"Almost Echo. We just need to set up the final piece of the puzzle before you know who shows up." He turned to two of the men. "You two, start loading up and grab the box."

For the rest of his life, Robert would wonder what possessed him to open his mouth. "You better get out while you can freak, before Batman gets here and kicks your ass!"

For that, the blonde woman kicked him. "Keep your mouth shut, old man!"

Robert grimaced in pain, but still looked at her defiantly. "Bitch!"

The blonde looked angry and made a move to hit him again, when the Riddler's voice interrupted her.

"Bring him over here, Query."

 _What the Hell kind of names for henchgirls were Query and Echo_ , Robert had time to think, before Query did as she was told and dragged him across the marble floor and deposited him in front of her boss. She kept her gun firmly trained on him, ready to end his life he he even thought of making a move towards her boss.

When Robert looked up, the Riddler had crouched down to meet him at eye level. Only inches separated Robert from the face of one of Batman's most notorious adversaries. Robert wasn't impressed. What kind of crook wears a green bowler hat?

"Riddle me this," the Riddler said, in a voice that made him sound like a game show host from Hell. "You will always find me in the past. I can be created in the present, but the future can never taint me. What am I?"

Robert knew the answer, but he wasn't going to play along with this bastard's games. While the Riddler was leaning in, hoping to hear an answer, Robert spat in his face. He was rewarded for this with a direct hit from the Riddler's cane to the top of his head, sending him face first into the floor.

"I've got the package boss," he heard one of the henchmen say in his daze. "What do you want to do with it?"

"Bring it over here. And girls, do help the man up. A pawn's no good to us dead."

Robert felt hands pulling his arms up and then nothing.

Robert didn't know how long he had been passed out. As he came to, he could hear the sound of gunfire and the muffled sounds of a fistfight. It sounded like Batman had shown up at last.

"Well well," he could hear the Riddler speak. Robert frowned. His eyes were open, but all he could see was black. What was going on?

"Look who finally decided to show up. And you brought your little friend too! Were my clues that taxing, Dark Knight?"

"Hardly," a gruff voice spoke. Despite the circumstances, Robert felt a little thrill at actually being in the presence of Batman.

"The first batch you sent were an obvious misdirection. You're beginning to slip Nigma."

"I do not slip! You must have cheated!"

"It's over Nigma. Give up peacefully."

The Riddler made no response to that. To his right, Robert heard a beeping. As he was becoming more aware, he realized he was in a standing position and that something was holding his arms up.

"Perhaps if my riddles aren't enough of a challenge for you anymore, you can occupy your time helping this poor peon. Echo! Query! Time to go!"

Robert could hear footsteps running past him, then another, heavier set running up towards him.

"Robin," he heard. "Get back."

He heard another voice that sounded like a teenage boy. "I can help!"

"Robin! Get back! Now!"

Robert began to sweat. "Batman?" he asked. "What's going on? I can't see.."

"You're blindfolded. Whatever you do, don't move."

Robert began to panic now. The beeping to his right was getting louder. "What did he do? Oh God, what did he do?"

"Try not to panic. It's going to alright."

It was difficult, but Robert manged to do what Batman asked. He began to hear what sounded like pliers cutting wire. His arms were beginning to feel tired though. "I can't hold up my arm-"

"Don't move. I've almost got it."

"Batman?" Robert heard Robin say. "It's stopped ticking."

Robert realized it then. That sick bastard had strapped him to a bomb. "Oh Jesus! I don't want to die!"

"Calm down. It's going to be alright."

Batman cut the last wires holding Robert's arms up, then picked him up and ran as far as he could. Robert could feel Batman deposit him on the ground and shield him with his own body. The three of them huddled together and waited for a blast that never came. Slowly, Robert moved to take off the blindfold. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see the bomb he'd been strapped to was merely letting off a plume of green smoke.

Batman's eyes narrowed. Robin let off a sigh of relief, before muttering. "When we catch him, I'm going to take that stupid cane and shove it right up his-"

"That's enough Robin," Batman barked at him. He turned to look at Robert. For the second time that night, he found himself only inches away from one of Gotham's most famous residents. Not bad for a night custodian.

"Are you alright?"

Now that he was no longer in peril, Robert began to breathe normally again and then let out a shaky laugh. "I'm fine. You know, I wasn't even supposed to here tonight..."

Satisfied that he was unharmed, Batman stood and nodded at Robin. "The GCPD are on their way. Stay here and wait for them. Come on Robin." The two began to run out.

"Give that son of a bitch a few hits for me, will you kid?" Robert shouted out. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Robin laugh. Then as quick as they arrived, they were gone. Alone, Robert leaned back against the wall and let out a long sigh of relief. He really needed to find a better job.


	3. Patient Interview 77

**"Alert, all staff and personnel. High-level patient arriving at Arkham. All personnel with security clearance level below A, please leave the Medical Center immediately. All senior medical staff, report to patient intake."**

All senior medical staff meant just Dr. Penelope Young that night. Or rather, that early morning. She had been working overnight in her office again, and was sure she had been on the verge of a breakthrough with her formula when the call had come in. After six weeks and as many incidents, Edward Nigma had been apprehended. Now, Dr. Young was reviewing his case history in patient intake, waiting until it was deemed safe for her to conduct his intake interview.

It wasn't an assignment she was looking forward to. More than any other patient in Arkham, Edward Nigma frustrated her. He had long been believed to be one of the healthier of the inmates at the Asylum, psychologically speaking. He'd never been violent in the ways that Joker was, or motivated by pure sadism like Victor Zsasz. His obsessive compulsive disorder could be debilitating, but manageable given the right treatment. The greatest obstacle to his treatment, in Dr. Young's opinion, was his own acerbic, narcissistic personality, which repelled even the most patient among them. Still, the doctors had had hope, her included. Dr. Young had more than once voiced the belief that out of all of the so-called Rogues Gallery, Nigma had the greatest potential for reform.

At some point, however, something had changed.

No one was quite sure when it had happened or why, but if Dr. Young could pinpoint a moment, she would have picked an incident over a year prior. Batman had come to visit him in the asylum after some scheme Nigma had been involved in. No one knew what had been said in that meeting, but it had ended with Nigma unconscious and bleeding on the cell floor. Since then, he had only become more single-minded in his determination to best Batman, abandoning any pretense of a friendly rivalry with the vigilante. As far as she knew, Nigma had never spoken to anyone about that conversation. Whenever she had asked in their therapy meetings, he had become so agitated that the entire sessions were compromised and he had to be sedated before being dragged back to his cell.

It had finally gotten to the point where she had requested his care be transferred to Dr. Whistler. She could no longer waste time trying to defuse his tantrums when she had tangible progress with TITAN. It should be Dr. Whistler here conducting this interview, she thought bitterly, but she still had a professional obligation to treat Nigma, so here she was.

"Dr. Young?"

She looked up from her notes to see Aaron Cash.

"They're ready for you."

Cash escorted her down the hallway towards the interview room. Even from a distance, Dr. Young could see the armed guards still waiting outside the door.

"How is he?" she asked.

Cash shook his head. "Not good. Batman messed him up a bit, not that he didn't have it coming. He really did a number on that guy in the subway."

Dr. Young nodded. That was the most disconcerting change of all. The more Batman had bested him, the more Nigma had upped the ante by using people as bait in his 'games' against the Dark Knight. They'd all been saved up to this point, but it was only a matter of time before someone died. At this rate, maybe even Nigma himself.

Finally, they reached the door. "I'm here to conduct the patient interview for Edward Nigma."

The guards at the door nodded, then stepped aside to give her access. "We'll be right outside. Holler if you need anything."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

Before she opened the door, Cash put a hand on her shoulder.

"Be careful Doc. He's changed a lot since you've last seen him."

Dr. Young appreciated the concern, but shook his hand off just the same. "I'm not afraid of Edward Nigma." And with that, she entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

For the first time in over half a year, Dr. Young was face to face with Edward Nigma. They'd taken away his hat and cane, of course and he was dressed in the orange Arkham jumpsuit that was given to all patients. His hands were shackled in front of him and Dr. Young assumed his feet were too, which wasn't much comfort to her, considering what a renowned escape artist he was. He'd been lying with his head down on the table until he'd heard her come in and then lifted his head. It took all of her professional training for her not to gasp in shock at his appearance. Not so much the dark bruises that adorned his face, courtesy of Batman, but by how rundown and, for lack of a better term, haggard he looked. Nigma had always taken such pride in his appearance, but his usually slicked back hair was loose and was a dull auburn color. He had a layer of stubble on his face, indicating to her that his personal grooming was no longer a priority for him. Most disturbingly, he'd lost a considerable amount of weight since she'd seen him last. His cheeks were sunken in, exaggerating his already sharp facial features.

While she'd been taking in his appearance, Edward hadn't said a word. It took a moment for Dr. Young to realize that he was looking at her and...smiling. Either he had already figured out a plan of attack for their session, or he was genuinely happy to see her. Dr. Young wasn't sure which the worst option was. She sat down in the chair opposite from Nigma and placed her tape recorder on the table. Taking a breath, she pressed the play button.

"Taped Patient Interview #77. Patient's name is Edward Nigma, also known as the Riddler. In lieu of his regular Dry, Gretchen Whistler, Dr. Penelope Young is conducting this interview."

"And good morning to you too, Dr. Young. Long time no see." Edward said, almost cheerfully. Dr. Young narrowed her eyes at him. So, he'd decided to be charming. That never lasted very long.

"So Edward, here we are. Again."

"Still as personable as ever, I see."

"This isn't a social visit, Edward. We need to talk about what happened."

Edward let out a dramatic sigh. "If we must."

Penelope read over the police report. "You escaped from Arkham six weeks ago and had been leaving your usual clues for Batman to solve, which led up to you using one of your own henchmen as bait in a rigged subway car."

"Oh, you make it sound so terrible. From your tone of voice, one would think I'd held a room of babies at gunpoint."

"Edward. The man nearly died."

"I like to think of it as Darwin's theory of Natural Selection in action. The man stupid enough to misplace his criminal employer's riddles is the man who doesn't get to spread his moronic genes to the next generation."

Dr. Young wasn't amused by how blasé Nigma was about his actions. It was unprofessional of her, but she couldn't resist puncturing that ego a bit.

"Well then, it seems Batman trumps Darwin. He managed to bring you back without any casualties."

Edward's smile died and his face took on a wrathful expression. "I had him. I had him this time! There's no way he could have solved it! He cheated! He always cheats!"

Well, that had been a mistake. Dr. Young had to put an end to this tantrum quick if this session was going to go anywhere. "Edward. This obsession of yours has gotten out of control. You need to stop this."

Nigma glared at her then. "You're one of the only people in this cesspool who has a chance of keeping up with me, so I'll forgive you this once. But don't ever presume to tell me what I need Dr. Young."

Undaunted, Dr. Young pressed on. "Let's try looking at this from a personal angle. Have you looked at yourself recently?"

"I'd like to see how you look after going a few rounds with a thug dressed like a Bat."

"Be serious, Edward. I've looked over your case notes from your sessions with Dr. Whistler. You barely sleep when you're in Arkham. You clearly haven't been taking care of yourself when you're in Gotham. In fact, " she paused for a moment to look over the notes. "Dr. Whistler wrote that the previous time you escaped, you were apprehended before you could put any plan into action because you had spent three nights straight scrawling riddles on the walls of your hideout."

Edward's face had changed expression from anger to boredom. "Is there a point to this?"

"Aren't you just a little bit concerned?"

Edward's mood shifted again. "What concerns me, Dr. Young, is that this city, after every opportunity I've given it, still refuses to understand what a fraud their so-called savior is." His voice had risen in volume and was wavering now, matching the manic expression on his face. Dr. Young watched with caution, grateful that he was shackled. "I'm the only one in this entire building who understands what he is. Who he is. And no matter how long it takes, I'll make you all see it!" He was shouting now. "I'll prove to you what a self-serving, hypocritical criminal he is! And everyone will know who Gotham's mental superior really is!"

In past sessions, this had been the point where Dr. Young would call the guards and terminate, but tonight, she saw an opening.

"And then what?" she asked.

Nigma stopped mid-rant and looked at her with a quizzical expression on her face. "What?"

There it was. An opportunity to bring him back to some semblance of reality. Dr. Young continued, not wanting to waste it.

"Say you finally defeat Batman. You prove once and for all that you're his intellectual superior. Maybe you even kill him. Then what? What does the life of Edward Nigma look like after that?"

Nigma raised a finger as if to say something, but nothing came.

"Would you be happy? Would you be able to move on in your life? You've been criminally active for over ten years. And what do you have to show for it? You don't think twice about killing people anymore, you've burned your bridges with nearly everyone in your peer group-"

"I don't need peers. Maybe we cooperated occasionally, but they are not my friends."

"And Deirdre and Nina? They were loyal to you for years, and yet according to these case notes, even they won't work with you anymore."

Nigma's face darkened at the mention of his former hench girls, but he said nothing.

"You can't even take care of yourself anymore. Even if you did defeat Batman, what do you have in your life to go back to after that? What would stop you from simply repeating your habits with Batman with some other person you want to test your intelligence against?" Dr. Young paused to consider her next words. What she had to say next could set off another meltdown.

"You're mentally ill Edward. I don't doubt that your history with Batman has aggravated your health, but you were unwell before Batman and you'll continue to be unwell even if he dropped dead tomorrow."

Nigma simply sat there, with a sullen expression on his face. Dr. Young lowered her tone. "It's not too late for you, Edward. If you let me, I can help you."

"Is that you want?" he asked her, almost plaintively. "To help me?"

Dr. Young felt a faint glimmer of hope. Maybe she had finally reached him. Maybe he wouldn't even need TITAN. "Yes Edward. That's all any of us here want."

Edward looked at her for a moment, studying her. Then, he began to laugh and all of Dr. Young's hope died.

"Forgive me, Dr. Young," he said. "But if how you've been treating poor Bane is any indication, I don't think I want your help."

Dr. Young gaped at him. "How do-"

"How do I know that you've been reverse engineering his venom formula? Or that your 'mysterious' benefactor arranged for him to be moved here from Blackgate to further your experiments?" He had a condescending smile on his face, with his hands propped up under his chin. "There's very little that goes on in this asylum that I don't know about, even if I'm not always present. I'm not so far gone as you might like to think."

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She'd been so close to actually reaching him. "Edward, I don't know how you found out, but that has nothing to do with you-"

"Maybe not. But it is going to make life here a little too...chaotic for my liking."

"What are you talking about?"

Nigma looked at her as if she were a child.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what? Edward, if you have something to tell me-"

"Riddle me this, Dr. Young," he interrupted. "Who is Jack White?"

Before Dr. Young could even begin to formulate an answer, the door opened. She quickly turned off the tape recorder before whirling around to confront the intruder.

"We're in a session!" she snapped.

The guard looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, Doc. Warden's orders. Nigma's to go back to his cell." Then he and another guard walked in and escorted Nigma out. As they walked past her, Nigma leaned in towards her one last time.

"Thank about it, Dr. Young. The truth's staring you right in the face."

"That's enough, Nigma!" Cash shouted as he shoved him down the hallway. "Time to settle down."

When they had left, Dr. Young let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She almost jumped when an orderly approached her.

"Are you alright, Dr. Young? Your hands are shaking."

Dr. Young looked down. She was indeed trembling. When had Nigma been able to get under her skin like that? She quickly wrote down some lines on her prescription pad and shoved it at the hapless orderly.

"Take this to the pharmacy and have it filled out. I need to get back to my office." Before the orderly could reply, she took off towards Arkham mansion.

Later that night, Dr. Young wrote the following in her notebook:

 _My earlier opinion hasn't changed. I believe that conventional therapy has gone as far as it can with Edward Nigma. His compulsions have reached the point where he has no regard for his own life, let alone the lives of others. At this point, I feel that the best chance he has to overcome this is with the TITAN formula. Now more than ever, I need to see this process through. Lives at are stake._

For a moment, she thought of the question he'd asked her about Jack White, but she pushed it out of her mind, along with his needling her about her experiments. It wasn't the first time he'd tried to undermine her during a session, but it would be the last. She was sure of that.

She would never know what effect TITAN would have had on Edward Nigma. One week later, he had escaped from Arkham, for the final time. One month after that, he was in a coma.


	4. Private Investigator

_As impossible as Nigma was to deal with as an enemy, Commissioner Gordon thinks he's even worse as an ally._

It was not a good week for Commissioner Gordon. Two Face had broken out of Arkham again, robbing every bank on 2nd avenue before being apprehended. In response, Mayoral candidate Quincy Sharp was calling for a city council meeting to address the lack of security in Gotham, which if it went like the last meeting did, would mean less resources being allocated to the GCPD and more ear-mongering campaign ads. Never mind what extreme "recommendation" for treatment that Hugo Strange would make once Dent was returned to his custody. And on top of that circus, there seemed to be a new serial killer in Gotham.

Gordon was in the Narrows now, at the scene where the third body had been located. Bullock was already there supervising as uniformed cops cordoned off the crime scene and began questioning witnesses. Forensics had arrived as well, but the rain earlier that night would make collecting evidence more difficult.

With a sigh, Gordon walked up to Bullock. The detective acknowledged him with a nod. "Evening Jim."

"What have we got Harv?"

Bullock sniffed, and then gestured to the body. "The stiff's male, same age and build as the other victims. We haven't found any ID, but-"

"Gentlemen! Mind one more?"

Gordon and Bullock turned at the voice. Gordon swore under his breath. There, behind the police tape, was Edward Nigma. Or, as he preferred to be called nowadays, Edward Nigma, Private Investigator. No one would have seen that coming three years ago. After his final escape from Arkham, he'd joined in an attack on Metropolis with the Secret Society. At some point during that fight, he'd taken a mace to the head and wound up in a coma. He hadn't been expected to live, but after a year, he'd woken up with severe amnesia and, at least he claimed, no more compulsions to leave riddles or commit crimes. Instead, he'd decided to use his intellect to solve them.

That had been almost a year ago. His reformation seemed to be sticking, but as far as Gordon was concerned, he was still the same arrogant, attention-seeking jackass he'd been when he'd left puzzles for Batman. And he was an attention-seeking jackass that Gordon absolutely did not need to be dealing with right now. "No cameras, Nigma? The media finally get tired of your do-gooder act?"

Nigma only looked at him in that same patronizing way he had when he'd been the Riddler. "Really Commissioner? After all this time, you still think it's an act? I decided against bringing along a reporter today. I figured with all your recent...issues at city hall, media scrutiny's the last thing you need right now."

Gordon barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "How nice of you."

"Get lost freak," Bullock growled. "We've got work to do."

"So I see," Nigma said. "That's what, the third white, middle aged male with a slashed throat you've found these past 10 days in Gotham?"

Gordon fixed a steely glare on Nigma. "And what do you know about that, Nigma?"

"Only that it sounds like we've got a new serial killer on our hands. I thought you might appreciate my talents for deductive reasoning on this case."

"The only thing we'd 'appreciate' Mr. PI," Bullock said, "Is if you'd crawl back to wherever you came from and let the cops do their jobs!"

Nigma tut-tutted at Bullock. "My my Commissioner! Do you allow him to speak this way to Batman? With an attitude like that, no wonder the city council's been considering cutting your funding."

Bullock's face purpled with rage. He stalked over to the crime tape where Nigma was still standing, clearly ready to punch the green-clad man's lights out. "What did you just say, you smug son of a-"

"Bullock!" Gordon shouted. "That's enough!" As much as Gordon wanted to give Nigma a good smack, the last thing the GCPD needed was for the former rogue to file a police brutality complaint. "Nigma, we appreciate the offer, but we can handle things here."

"Forgive me Commissioner, but if that was true, you would have apprehended him by now."

Gordon whipped around when he heard that. "You know who the killer is?"

"For certain? No," Nigma admitted. "But I have a very strong suspicion. Ten minutes examining the crime scene and I can give you his name for certain."

Gordon considered his options. Technically, he could arrest Nigma for obstructing a crime scene, but if all Nigma wanted to do was help them, was there any real harm in letting him play detective? Besides, Gordon reflected, if there's anything past interactions with the man had taught him, it was that it was better to have an occupied and supervised Nigma as opposed to an at loose and bored Nigma. Reluctantly, Gordon lifted up the crime scene tape to allow Nigma access.

"Ten minutes, exactly. Don't touch anything or remove anything from the scene. And if you leak _anything_ to the media about this, the next time you show up to a crime scene, you _will_ be arrested. Deal?"

Nigma beamed. "Commissioner, I am at your disposal." He then made a beeline towards the body. Gordon and Bullock followed the latter muttering invective under his breath.

The forensics examiner was just about to begin conducting a preliminary examination when the three of them made it over. Nigma dropped down to one knee and gestured to the man with his cane.

"So, what have we found out?"

The examiner looked at Gordon, confused by the presence of the former rogue. Gordon gave a short nod.

"Well," the examiner began, once he found his words. "The victim is male, white and approximately forty-five to fifty years old. His throat was slit with what looks like-"

"A six-inch serrated knife!" Nigma interrupted, almost gleefully. A glare from Gordon settled him down a bit. "I apologize. Please, continue."

The examiner looked askance at Nigma. "...Right. The victim's throat was slashed with a serrated blade, and from the way the throat's been cut, I would _estimate-"_ he emphasized, shooting Nigma a look, "that the blade was about six inches in length."

Gordon nodded. That was consistent with the previous deaths. "Time of death?"

"I won't know until I get him on the table, but since rigor hasn't set in, less than four hours. Judging by the pool of blood here, I think it's safe to say that he was killed and left here."

"Do we know who he is?"

"Uniforms interviewed the guys who found the stiff," Bullock added. "According to them, this guy's a panhandler who worked this block. They last saw him down at the bus stop about four and a half hours ago."

Gordon frowned. "So he would have been killed only about half an hour later in an area that got plenty of foot traffic."

"Almost makes you think he wanted to be caught," Nigma interjected. "Or at the very least, he wanted to be sure the body would be found."

Gordon turned to Nigma. "Alright Nigma, you got your look at the body. Now do you mind telling us your theory?"

Nigma got up with a flourish. "I thought you'd never ask Commissioner! First, let's start off by reviewing the case from the beginning. The first victim was a Mr. Tim Newburn age 45, operations manager at Gotham Financial. He was found with his throat cut and his body stashed in a dumpster two blocks from his office. The second victim was a Mr. George Daly, age 47, found with his throat slit outside a strip club on Main. His wallet had been stolen along with his ID-"

"That detail was never released to the media. Where did you hear that, Nigma?" Gordon asked.

Nigma just shrugged. "Sources. Which I won't be naming so don't even ask. Anyway, Mr. Daly was found about five days after Mr. Newburn. Then three days after that, we find this-" he poked the body with the tip of his cane for emphasis. "-Poor John Doe with his throat cut and laid out on this street like yesterday's garbage. Now," he paused, looking at Gordon and Bullock. "What do these cases have in common?"

"Same weapon used, same method of killing them, same type of victim," Bullock sneered. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"Ah," Nigma said. "But the more important question is, what _don't_ they have in common?"

Bullock fell silent at that. Gordon thought it over, then the answer came to him.

"The killer tried to hide the first body, but with the second and third victim, he left them in an area where they'd be located easily."

"Very good Commissioner," Nigma drawled. "Now, why would he do that?"

Gordon thought the man was fit to burst. "Why don't you tell us Nigma?"

"Gladly. The killer did that, because he had a connection with the first victim. One that he didn't want to be found out. So five days later, he goes out and kills Mr. Daly in the same way and leaves the body to be discovered. He even takes his ID, to muddle things further. Three days later, he kills this poor man to give off the impression that there's a serial killer in Gotham, so you good people at GCPD wouldn't be looking so closely at Mr. Newburn's personal life. In conclusion," he finished dramatically. "Mr. Newburn was the true target. John Doe here and Mr. Daly were distractions."

Gordon nodded. It made sense. It was also what he and his friend had suspected when the second body had shown up. Bullock however, didn't seem convinced.

"Couldn't it be that Daly and Doe were killed by one person and Newburn was killed by someone else?"

Nigma gave Bullock almost a pitying look. "No, the method of killing them has been far too consistent for that. I know you're not used to dealing with me and my intellect on this side of the law, but do try to keep up."

"You still haven't told us who you think the killer is, smart ass."

"I was getting there, Bullock. As it happens, there's one person who stood to gain immensely from Mr. Newburn's death. Mr. Daniel Cliburn."

"Newburn's assistant?" Gordon asked. "What's your evidence?"

"I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Cliburn has been setting up fake accounts at that bank and ripping of the customers. He's a good hacker. Not as good as me of course, but still good."

Gordon didn't need to be a genius to know where this was going. "And you know this because Newburn hired you to investigate Cliburn."

Nigma only grinned in response. "Very good commissioner."

"Why the Hell didn't you tell us that to start with, Nigma!?" Bullock shouted. "We could have arrested Cliburn before the other two got killed!"

Nigma frowned a bit. "Mr. Newburn had only reached out to me the day before he died. I was suspicious of course, but I couldn't exactly walk into GCPD and declare Cliburn the killer without any kind of evidence, now could I? I could have told you that Newburn had hired me to investigate Cliburn, but then it would have been my word against his, and I know who you would have believed. When I was able to uncover the financial fraud, the second body had been found and I couldn't be sure just yet that it wasn't a serial killer. I came out tonight to see if this murder was committed in the same way as the second one. And since it was, I felt confident enough to divulge this to you. Oh, and to give you this."

Nigma reached into his right pocket and pulled out a USB drive. "This is what I've been able to uncover about Cliburn's fraud." he said, giving it to Gordon. Gordon looked at it skeptically for a moment, then put into his own pocket.

"We'll look into it."

"I'd make that soon if I were you," Nigma warned. "Before I left, Cliburn had opened an offshore account. I think he's planning on fleeing the country."

Gordon turned to Bullock. "Send a squad car to his address and pick him up for questioning." Bullock nodded, then sent the call in to dispatch. "As for you Nigma," Gordon said turning back to him. "I don't like your holding back information like this. I don't need or want to know everything that your clients hire you for, but when it concerns criminal matters, I expect GCPD to be kept in the loop."

Nigma gave Gordon a cold look. "Do you give Batman this much of the third degree when he goes off the beaten path?"

"Batman's more than earned the benefit of the doubt. You've got a long way to go before you earn that kind of trust, Nigma."

"Trust is a two way street, Commissioner," Nigma said, sullenly. "If there's nothing else, I think I'm done here." And with that, Nigma raised the police tape, walked under it and walked off into the night. Gordon was happy to see him go. So was Bullock, if his muttering was any indication.

"Of all the psychos that had to go straight, why'd it have to be that asshole?"

Gordon didn't have a response to that.

Nigma as it turned out, was right about Cliburn. Once he'd been confronted with the USB detailing his scheme, he'd immediately confessed to both the fraud and the murders. He was arraigned the next day and apparently, his lawyer had reached out to the DA about a plea deal.

Nigma had kept his part of the bargain, to a point. When the news had broken out that the killer had been caught, he'd issued a public statement that it had been his initial investigation into Cliburn that had led to his arrest. As usual, the media had eaten up his grandstanding. Gordon was in his office the following night, watching the story unfold on the news.

Behind him, he heard a rustling of the window blinds and then heavy footsteps walking up to his desk. Gordon didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"I've finished looking over the financial files Nigma gave you. Cliburn had embezzled over a million dollars through his fake accounting in less than a month."

Gordon nodded. "Forensics just finished examining the knife we found in Cliburn's apartment. It's a match to the wounds on all three of the victims and they managed to pull DNA from our John Doe. I hate to admit it, but Nigma was right."

"This time. I'll still be keeping an eye on him."

"You don't think his reform's legitimate?"

There was a pause. "I want to believe it Jim. But you've seen how he still behaves. It's all still a game to him. I think he's merely traded one obsessive behavior for another. And if that's the case, it's only a matter of time before he relapses."

Gordon sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Still," he said almost wistfully as he looked at Nigma on the television screen. "It's a damn shame he was working with us from the beginning. He'd have made one Hell of a detective. Might have even given you a run for your money." Gordon pushed his chair back as he prepared to get up. "Do you ever wonder who he might have been if he wasn't the Riddler?"

The rustling of the window blinds was his only answer. Gordon chuckled as he got up to shut the window.

"No, I guess not."


	5. Old Man

_Notes: So, this chapter may need a bit more set-up than my previous chapters. In my take on Enigma, she was already crime-fighting a bit with the Teen Titans when she made contact with her father, who refused to admit he was her father until the DNA test proved it. They start forming an awkward relationship, complicated by the fact that he doesn't approve of her following him into costumed life and by the fact that he's Edward freakin' Nigma. They're making baby steps though._

Gotham was used to the aftermath of super-villain attacks, but it didn't make the clean up any easier, or more pleasant. Especially when that super-villain was Clayface. He'd broken out of Arkham, again, this time impersonating Dr. Hugo Strange himself and staging a jail break, before rampaging through Gotham. Red Robin and Batgirl had had their hands full trying to contain him, with Batman, Nightwing and Robin chasing down the other escaped inmates. They did have some unexpected help however. Enigma, Red Robin's old comrade from his days with the Teen Titans had just happened to be in the area and had gladly joined in the fight, offering herself as a distraction for Clayface while Red Robin had prepared the gadgetry needed to take him down. GCPD was on the scene now, containing Karlo and mopping up the mess left by his clay, while Red Robin, Batgirl and Enigma stood off against the side of a building across the street, catching their breath.

It hadn't been an easy fight. Enigma had been hit by a blast from Clayface and nearly caught by him twice, but rather than being shaken by the encounter, she was riding on the adrenaline rush.

"That was amazing!" she cried out in excitement.

"If you say so," Red Robin groused. "It's going to take hours for me to wash this out of my cape."

Enigma looked at him cheekily. "That's why you shouldn't even wear them. I don't and I do just fine."

"Thanks, but I don't think I'm going to take fashion advice from someone wearing purple striped spandex leggings."

"Pfft. Least I got the figure for it!"

Batgirl looked at the two of them in amusement when something across the street caught her attention. She leaned over to poke Enigma on the shoulder. "Hey Enigma, isn't that your dad?"

Enigma looked up. "Where?" Batgirl pointed across the street and Enigma looked. "Aw crap."

Sure enough, there was Edward Nigma. Formerly known as the Riddler, now known as a private investigator and Enigma's long absent father. And he looked pissed.

Enigma groaned. Her dad was awkward to deal with on a good day, but when he was pissed? It kind of made her regret tracking him down. She turned to Red Robin and Batgirl almost beseechingly. "Take me with you?"

Batgirl gave her a sympathetic look. "Sorry, but you know what the boss would say. Besides, I think that may just tick your dad off more."

Enigma knew she was right, but that didn't make her feel better. "Traitor."

Red Robin gave Batgirl a look and the two got ready to leave. Red Robin shot his grappling hook up and flew out of sight. Before she shot off hers, Batgirl placed a hand on Enigma's shoulder.

"Call me later if he gives you too much static, OK?"

Enigma shrugged her off. "I can handle that grouchy old man any day of the week."

Batgirl smiled, then followed Red Robin into the night. Once the two had left, Enigma turned to see her father cross the street. He stopped right in front of her, with a disapproving scowl on his face. Enigma fixed him with a defiant look in turn.

"Hiya Pops," she sassed at him.

That evidently just irritated her father even more.

"You've got clay on your face," he said, giving the right side of her face a tap.

Enigma reached up to where he had tapped her. Sure enough, there was dried clay. She just gave her dad a sheepish look. He didn't say anything, instead sighing in irritation and pulling a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. He wet it, then began to roughly clean the clay from her face.

"Ah! I can take care of it myself!" Enigma snapped, batting her father's hands away.

"Really?" her father retorted, handing her the hankie. "That would be a first."

Enigma glared at him while she finished wiping her face. "Oh lay off, old man."

"Don't call me that. I'm not even 40!"

"That's still older than me, old man."

"It's older than you'll ever be, if you keep this up."

Enigma didn't say anything after that. Instead she finished wiping her face, then tossed the hankie back at her father. He disposed of it in a trash can next to them then gestured for her to follow him back across the street. She did so, resisting the urge to drag her feet. He led her to his car, which was parked off a side street from where the police were containing Karlo. Without a word, he opened the passenger door for her then as soon as she entered the vehicle, shut it behind her. Enigma looked sullenly out the passenger window as her father entered and started the car. He drove out of the side street and onto the main road. For a few minutes, there was silence in the car. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

"I don't appreciate sarcasm," Enigma heard her father say. "I also don't appreciate turning on the evening news to see my teenaged daughter turning herself into target practice for the benefit of Batman's assistants."

And there it was. "What's the big deal?" Enigma asked. "You don't complain when I go out on patrol with the Titans!"

"Do I really need to explain the differences between some random street punks and Clayface? And just how long have you been helping the Bats out?"

Enigma scowled. "I'm not working with them, I was just in the neighborhood! How is it any different from when you worked with Batman?"

"First point: I don't work with Batman when it comes to dealing with his rogues. Second: Batman and myself are on a level you aren't even close to. Third and final point: you'll never get to that level if you keep disregarding everything I say and keep acting like-"

"A moron?" Enigma said, venomously. "I get it. I'm not as smart as you and I'm never going to be as smart as you. You don't have to remind me of that every time I see you!"

Her father made no response. When Enigma turned to look at him, she was surprised by his expression. Instead of angry, he looked stricken. "Is that what you think? That I think you're stupid?"

"Isn't it true?" she asked.

At that, all of the fight seemed to drain out of her father. "No," he said softly. "I don't think you're stupid. You're reckless and can be childish, but you're not stupid. I'm sorry that I made you feel that way."

An apology from her father? That was rare. What she said must have hit home, hard. Not for the first time, Enigma considered that for all his notoriety, she really didn't know much about her father. For a few minutes, the only sound in the car came from the street as they passed through Gotham. Finally, her father spoke again.

"Do you know about the second Robin? The one who came after Nightwing?"

Everyone in the costumed community knew about him, especially the teenagers. "He was killed by the Joker," Enigma answered. "Why are you asking me about him?"

Her father paused, seeming to consider his next words. "I don't remember much about him myself. He wasn't a Robin for very long, you see. From what I can recall, he was a headstrong boy. He liked the thrill of being a Robin, I think. He was about your age when-"

Suddenly, Enigma understood. "Do I...remind you of him?"

Her father shook his head. "Yes and no. Like I said, I don't remember too much about him as a person. What I'm trying to say is that I've been thinking about him a lot lately. Mostly whenever I see you doing something reckless."

Enigma's heart leapt up, just a bit. He worried about her. He didn't want to see her get hurt. He actually, in his own weird way, cared about her. Enigma didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She settled for giving him a wry look.

"Don't worry about me pops. It's not like I'm going head to head with the clown anytime soon."

Her father gave a wry chuckle. "You'd better not." There was another pause. Enigma leaned back in her seat, watching the world go by her window. She'd almost nodded off when she heard her father speak.

"Ellen?"

Enigma opened her eyes. "Yeah?"

"I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I also know that I have't been in your life very long, so I don't exactly have the right to call myself much of a father. The simple truth is I don't know how to be a father. I would like to learn though."

Enigma nodded. This was probably about the closest she could get to him admitting he cared about her. For now. "I get it." Then she added "Just once though, I'd like to be able to see you when capes and crimes aren't involved."

"I'd like that too." he said, so softly that Enigma could barely hear it. She did though and that was the important part. When they stopped at a red light he did turn to give her a look. "I meant what I said though. No more fighting rogues. I don't care if Batman himself is there and believe me, I'm going to be having a talk with him about what happened tonight. I may not have legal custody over you, but don't think I can't find a way to enforce that rule."

"OK, old man. No more rogues." Ellen leaned back again, this time, looking at her surroundings. She realized that she was in a part of town she didn't recognize. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"My place," her father. "After that fight, you need to shower. Do you have a change of clothes on you?"

Enigma realized that she'd left her street clothes in a knapsack back at the scene of the fight. "Crap.."

"I've got some in the back seat," her father said. "Never hurts to be prepared. There's a Chinese place not too far from my apartment. I thought we might get dinner and catch up a bit before I drop you off back at your grandmother's. Unless there's somewhere else you need to be."

It didn't take Enigma very long to consider her answer. "Nope. I'm free."

Her father smiled, just a bit. "Good."

One hour later, they were sharing a table at the Chinese restaurant. Enigma spent the rest of her evening being taught how to use chopsticks, exchanging stories with her father about what they'd seen and done since they last saw each other, telling him what she loved and hated about school and popular culture, making fun of Quincy Sharp and scandalizing him with her thoughts on Batgirl's attractiveness. He in turn told her a story about his ill fated trip to Rome with Catwoman, which included the time he tried on her outfit. She laughed so hard she almost choked on her lo mein. The evening ended with the two of them making tentative plans to meet up that weekend, if their schedules allowed for it.

It wasn't much to base a father-daughter relationship on, but it was a start. There were still many questions Enigma had about her father, who he was and where they were going, but she didn't worry about them too much. As her father liked to say, the future was a riddle only time could solve and as far as Enigma was concerned, they had all the time in the world to figure each other out.


	6. Daddy

It was 11:59 on a Friday night in Gotham City, and four year old David Edward Nashton was wide awake. He knew he shouldn't be, but he couldn't sleep. His mother had told him that his father would be home the next morning, and he wanted to stay up to see him. He had left home three days ago to work on a 'big' case, he said. He'd promised them that he'd be back Saturday morning, and his father never lied. He'd talk a lot, in big words that David couldn't understand (Mommy called it stretching the truth), but he never lied. David rolled over in his bed to look at his clock. The large digital clock now read 12:00. David let out an impatient sigh. Still no sign of his father.

Before he'd left, David had asked his father if he could come with him this time. He'd had just laughed, pat him on the head and said, "Maybe when you're older," before he'd left to go pick up his big sister. David sulked. Why could Ellie go and he couldn't? It wasn't fair! Sure, Ellie had been a superhero since before David was even born, but still. David wasn't a little baby anymore! He was a big boy now and he was smarter than the other kids in his preschool. Everyone said so. He'd been the only one who'd figured out how to unlatch the window after all. He'd managed to get out to the front gate and had almost made it out before the teacher had caught him. Daddy had scolded him for that, but afterwards, David thought he saw him smirk a bit.

Suddenly, David saw a flash of light down the street. David jumped out of his bed and ran up to his bedroom window. When he looked down, he saw a familiar car pull into the driveway of his home. A moment later, he saw a man with a cane and a bowler hat exit the car and make his way to the front door.

David's face lit up. He was home! He bounded from the window towards his door. He poked his head out first, just to make sure his mother wasn't still awake. The only noise he heard was the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Carefully, David padded down the stairs and turned right, towards the hallway closet. There, hanging his hat and jacket, was his father. David ran up to him.

"Daddy!" he cried out, hugging his father tightly.

His father didn't acknowledge him, instead placing his cane on the hook inside the closet door. "You're not supposed to be up this late, David. What would Mommy think?"

David's face fell at the stern tone in his father's voice. Before he could say anything though, his father had scooped him up into arms and wrapped him in a tight hug of his own. "Oh well. What Mommy doesn't know won't hurt us, right?"

David squealed happily and wrapped his little arms around his father's neck. His father laughed a bit and kissed him on the forehead. "Did you miss me, my little riddle?"

David nodded. "You were gone too long." he pouted.

"Didn't I call you to say goodnight?"

"It's not the same."

David felt his father chuckle a bit at that. "So demanding. Were you a good boy for Mommy?"

David nodded again, then pulled away to ask his father questions of his own. "Where did you go? Was it scary? Did you see Batman? Did-"

"Alright David," his father said, pressing a gloved finger against his lips. "I'll tell you all about my work. But not now. You need to go to bed."

David would have protested, but only yawned in response. He rested his head against his father's shoulder as he walked them both up the stairs back into David's bedroom. His father gently laid him back down and tucked him back in. Before his father could leave though, David had one more question.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"How come people call you Riddler?"

At that question, David's father tensed a bit. Then he looked at David with a bit of a sad smile on his face. David often caught him out of the corner of his eye looking at him like that.

"That's...a long story David. I'll tell you when you're older."

David sulked a bit. "You always say that."

His father considered that for a bit. "Tell you what. I'll tell you a bit tonight, if you can answer this: What gets wetter the more it-"

"A towel!" David cried out.

"...You've heard that one. Alright then: What time is it when an elephant sits on your-"

"Time to get a new fence!" David blurted out again.

David's father gave him a look that was mixed with humor and exasperation. "I'm going to have to come up with some original material for you soon. Alright then," he sighed dramatically. "I'll tell you when you're exactly the same age as I am."

David's brow furrowed as he tried to work out this latest puzzle. When he did, he scowled at his father. "That's no fair Daddy! I'll never be the exact same age as you!"

His father let out a laugh in earnest then, rubbing his hand affectionately through David's dark hair. "There's my clever boy. Well, since you answered them all, I suppose I can tell you a little bit. Something age appropriate of course. How about the time I helped Batman foil King Tut..."

Someday, David would find out the whole story of Edward Nigma's life, how he'd risen from an abused child to one of Gotham's most notorious outlaws. How his mind had given him everything, and nearly destroyed him at the same time. How he'd gone from a rogue to a detective. Everything he had to become and everything that he had to lose to become the man that David knew as his father. And how close David himself was to not existing at all.

But that's a story for another time.


End file.
